


Brendon's Egg

by beebovevo



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Bleeding asshole, Crack, Current Day, Dubiously consensual masturbation, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Emergency butt surgery, M/M, Post-Split, Ryden, egg kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebovevo/pseuds/beebovevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon Urie is a regular married man who lays eggs. One day, Ryan accidentally fertilizes one. After a bit of stress and heartache, they make the decision to raise the child together. The events that follow can only be described as adorable, shocking, and quite possibly unholy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brendon's Egg

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry. If you're disgusted easily, this might not be a good read for you. You've been warned.

Brendon's eyes shoot open and his fingers dig into the bedsheets. His gaze darts around the room, his breathing quickening, and he focuses on Sarah's sleeping form beside him as the first of the contractions twists up his insides. He lets out a strangled groan as the tip of the eggshell pushes through and spreads him open. He rolls onto his back and splays out his legs, leans forward and struggles to remove his boxers between laboured breaths. A cold bead of sweat forms and runs down his temple.

 

Sarah sits up and rubs her eyes, then yawns.

 

"What's going on?" she whispers, still half-asleep. Brendon grunts again, the egg nearly a third of the way out. It's stretching him too much too quickly, and it burns so much that his eyes start to water and he has to force his teeth to unclench when he answers her.

 

"Go back to bed, babe. I'll be done in a minute." It has to be the biggest one in at least a few months. Sarah nods and hums an "okay" before lying back down and pulling the sheets over her head. Brendon keeps pushing, he can feel it reaching its widest point and knows it'll be over soon despite the blinding pain. It seems to take an eternity to push out, slowing to a millimetre every minute until it slides out all the way and lands on the bedsheets with a soft thud. It rolls over the mattress to rest against his leg, warm and slick with some viscous coating. He's still stretched, and it feels weird when he closes his legs and swings them over the edge of the bed, careful not to crush the egg.

 

He stands up shakily, more of the liquid now dripping down the inside of his thigh. He gropes through the bedsheets in the dark for the egg and grasps it gently but firmly; they're most slippery when they're fresh. His gait is uneven and wider than usual as he makes his way down the hall, completely naked and still recovering.

 

In the bathroom, he flicks the light on and studies his product, about four inches in diameter with a matte beige shell, covered in the clear liquid. He tosses it into the toilet with a plop, watching it break open on contact with the porcelain bowl. Bright yellow yolk spills into the water and sinks to the bottom of the bowl, the shards of the thin and easily broken shell following closely behind. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and flushes the toilet, then goes back to the bedroom and slides into bed next to Sarah, breathing a sigh of relief.

 

\---

 

"Wow," says Brendon. It's all he can think to say. "That's awful." The woman standing opposite him nods and rolls her eyes.

 

"I know, right? My sister was furious. She even--hey, are you alright?" She puts a hand on Brendon's shoulder, but he brushes her aside with a weak hand. His stomach churns. These lights are too bright, this crowd is too loud, this room is too small, this air is too hot. He can feel it coming. It's only been a week since the last, and never in public before. He can't hold it in. He doesn't even want to try.

 

"Yeah, I'll--" his speech is stilted as he tries to find something to focus on, tries to remember what he told Sarah he'd do if this ever happened, but it's all coming up blank. "I'll be fine," he finally chokes out. Then he spots it. There, on the other side of the room, the dimly lit hallway leading to the washrooms. His time is running out.

 

"Should I call an ambu--" He pushes her out of the way and runs to the bathroom, clenching every muscle in his body so nothing slips out. By the time he slams the stall door shut and locks it, it's already poking through. He sits down on the toilet and focuses on the excuse he'll need to explain his disappearance while he finishes the deed. This one hurts considerably less, as it's a great deal smaller than the last. Cold water splashes up onto his ass cheeks and he stands up, flushes without even checking. All he knows is that he has to leave the bathroom before he gets caught.

 

"Hey, you okay?" Pete asks him when he sits back down at the bar. "Your face is really flushed, man." Brendon nods. "Are you sure? You didn't just throw up or something, did you?"

 

"I'm fine, really."

 

"In that case, I've got some news that might change that." Brendon raises an eyebrow at Pete, who's smiling smugly into his clasped hands.

 

"Like what?" he asks.

 

"I saw Ryan earlier. He's still here, I think." Brendon sighs.

 

"What's the big deal? We went our separate ways and that was that. Don't go all crazed fangirl on me," Brendon warns. Pete just smiles at him. Brendon opens his mouth to continue explaining exactly why he doesn't care if Ryan's here, but Patrick jogs up behind them and Pete turns around.

 

"Pete, you're not gonna believe this," he says, grinning ear to ear. "Oh, hi, Brendon!"

 

"What am I not going to believe?"

 

"Someone put an egg in the toilet and it flooded the whole bathroom."

 

"An egg?"

 

"An egg! It's not like a chicken egg, though. It's bigger. I don't know what kind. Weird, right?"

 

"Sure," Pete replies, largely unimpressed.

 

"That's the craziest thing I've heard all day," says Brendon. Covering his tracks. "I'll see you guys later."

 

Pete and Patrick don't answer and continue talking before he slips back into the crowd and navigates back towards the bathrooms. He pushes open the door and is greeted by a slippery floor. Most of the water's drained by now, thankfully.

 

The stall he used earlier is the only one closed. He pushes on the door softly, just to check, but it's definitely locked. Something like a quiet shuffling comes from the other side of it. He decides to wash his hands while he waits so it's not as unbearably awkward. The shuffling gets louder, and reaches its climax when it's accompanied by a quiet, poorly muffled moan. Seconds later, the lock is clicking open and Ryan is stepping out of the stall. Brendon stares at him. He stares back. They both look like deer caught in headlights. Ryan gives him a little wave, a fake smile, and leaves immediately.

 

Brendon stands still until the door to the bathroom swings shut, then inspects the stall. He peers into the toilet and gasps.

 

"Oh god," he whispers.

 

\---

 

[15 minutes earlier]

 

"Ryan! How's it going?" Pete steps around a group of chatting women and stops in front of him, going in for a pat on the back.

 

"Hey," Ryan laughs, taking another sip of the beer in his hand. "It's good, man. Good to see you." Pete nods enthusiastically and leans in so Ryan can hear him better over the noise of the music and people.

 

"Have I got some news for you," he breathes in Ryan's ear. It sends chills down his spine, and not the good kind. He takes an instinctive step back and sees Pete's face, a knowing smile plastered over it. "I saw Brendon earlier. I think he's still here. You should talk to him!" Ryan shakes his head, trying to hide the bitter smile forming on his lips.

 

"That ship sailed a long time ago, Pete. He clearly wants nothing to do with me," he says honestly. "Look, I should get going."

 

Pete's jaw drops and he reaches for Ryan's shoulder as Ryan turns to leave. "Hey, wait! I'm sorry, we can talk about something else if that struck a nerve!" He clamours after Ryan, but loses him in the crowd and decides that hitting the bar again is the next best thing.

 

Ryan tries to dance, he really does. Maybe it's the song, or maybe it's the people, but he just can't get into it. Maybe he needs to stop thinking about Brendon. That would be a good start. He heads to the bathroom to freshen up and checks his hair in the heavily smudged mirror. He fixes the stray pieces with his fingers and splashes some water on his face, realizes too late that someone used the last of the paper towels and curses. He lightly kicks open a stall door and checks for toilet paper, but the object in the toilet catches his eye instead.

 

Normally, he tries not to look too closely at the mystery objects awaiting him in club toilets, but this one's just too intriguing to ignore. A pearly white egg, two or three times bigger than a chicken's, is floating in the water. He leans in closer to take a better look and that's when the smell hits him. Not the bathroom smell; he got used to that a few minutes ago. This smell is different. It awakens something deep within him.

 

He doesn't remember exactly when his pants came undone but he's almost certain it happened within the past thirty seconds. He strokes his cock almost on autopilot, wasting no time to enjoy it. The whole time, he can't take his eyes off the egg, like his whole existence was leading up to this moment. The bathroom door opens and closes, footsteps lead up to the sink and the water starts to run. Ryan only fucks his hand harder, faster; he needs to finish before the predator attacks. Needs to pass on the good genes.

 

He comes suddenly and it takes him by surprise. Most of it hits the egg right in the middle and drips down the sides to disperse into the water. He wipes his hands on his jeans and opens the stall door, realizing he can't flush if he wants his young to survive. The primal, evolution-shunned piece of his brain pats him on the back over a job well done.

 

Brendon's surprised face is the first thing he sees when he steps out of the stall. He stops dead in his tracks. All he can think to do is wave. Brendon just keeps gawking, and Ryan realizes his mistake. Maybe he should have flushed after all. He turns on his heels and hightails it out of there, white knuckles on the steering wheel all the way home until his head slams down on his pillow and he starts to cry.

 

\---

 

"Honey, did you bring this home?" Sarah holds up the egg to Brendon as she leans in the doorway, watching him cook them both breakfast. Brendon turns to look and immediately pales.

 

"Where did you find that?" he asks quickly, praying to any deity that would listen that this is only the first time his prime hiding spot's been compromised. The potatoes in the pan sizzle louder.

 

"Under the bed, beside your magazines," replies Sarah. "I'm going to throw it out if you don't have anything to say about it." Brendon's eyes widen.

 

"No!" he shouts more loudly than intended. Sarah shrugs and disappears back into the hall with a muttered, "Okay." It's definitely not the weirdest behaviour she's ever seen from him. "I'm putting it back, then!" she calls from their bedroom, and Brendon breathes a sigh of relief. Safe. For now.

 

They eat their breakfast in silence, aside from Brendon's phone buzzing nonstop on the table. After the sixth ring, he puts it on silent, and that is that.

 

\---

 

Ryan vows to keep calling Brendon until he picks up. He glances at his alarm clock; 11:45. He's been calling for an hour, panicking for two. He's about to leave an angry voicemail and give up when it clicks on the last ring and Brendon's strained voice echoes through the receiver.

 

"What do you want?" Brendon hisses. Ryan hesitates.

 

"I wanted to talk to you. About, uh--"

 

"Oh, Jesus..." Brendon's voice grows distant and Ryan thinks he can make out faint laughter. "Look, I don't know what you were thinking last night, but I thought I made it clear we were over."

 

"What happens?" Ryan blurts out. "I mean, what happens when, you know, someone... The egg..." He's not sure how to put it delicately. Luckily, he doesn't need to.

 

"A baby, Ryan. A baby happens. I can't believe you would just... Do that. God, how fucking careless are you?"

 

"Wait, you don't understand, I didn't know! I didn't know that's how it worked; hell, I didn't even know it was yours! You have to believe me," he begs, and for a moment, he hears Brendon click his tongue in thought. The line goes silent for a long time. Ryan wonders if he's been hung up on.

 

"I can't believe this. Sarah is going to kill me. Ugh, I think I need you to do something for me." Ryan perks up at the shot at redemption; anything to make Brendon a little less pissed at him.

 

"What is it?" he asks. Brendon sighs in resignation.

 

"Just... Take care of the egg until I can talk to Sarah about it. I'll show you how to keep it warm and everything. Can I come over to drop it off later today?"

 

Ryan nods even though Brendon can't see him. "Yeah," he says, trailing off. "That's fine." The line goes dead.

 

Two hours later, Ryan is answering the knock on the door. Brendon walks in as soon as the door opens, placing the pile of blankets carefully on the couch in the living room. Ryan swings the door shut and turns to watch Brendon.

 

"By all means, come in," he says snidely.

 

"Oh please," mumbles Brendon, adjusting the blankets and retrieving a couple items from their folds. "It's not like you ever needed permission to come." Ryan winces.

 

"Harsh," he says. Brendon tosses him a baby hat. "What's this for?"

 

"Egg cozy. Do you have a blow dryer?" Ryan nods. "Not surprised. You shouldn't have to use it on the egg, but it's good to have just in case of an emergency. Do not," he pauses, looking Ryan in the eye and holding up a warning finger. "Let the egg. Get cold." Ryan nods again. "Write this down."

 

Ryan rifles through the drawers in his nightstand for a pen and notepad. When he returns to his living room, Brendon's spread out one blanket over the coffee table and made a nest out of the other. With delicate fingers, he places the egg in the middle, then looks up at Ryan.

 

"What a lovely centrepiece," Ryan comments.

 

"Do you want to do this or not?" asks Brendon sharply. "Because I can pack up and go home right now if you want a fucking fried abortion for lunch."

 

"Jesus, Bren, get a sense of humour."

 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I was just too busy freaking out over this unplanned child to realize you were joking," he sneers. "Did you write down the part about keeping it warm?" Ryan shows him the blank page. Brendon rolls his eyes. "Give me that," he commands, reaching for the pen and paper. Ryan hands it over and watches him scribble instructions on the page:

 

  1. Always keep the egg warm.
  2. Hoodie pockets are ideal.
  3. You must cover the egg at night.
  4. Do not leave the egg unattended.
  5. Do not let the egg crack.
  6. Call me in case of emergency.



 

"Take this," Brendon hands it back forcefully. "And don't lose it. Do I have to staple it to your forehead?"

 

Ryan smirks. "You might."

 

"Oh my god," Brendon breathes, burying his face in his hands briefly before running them through his hair. "I can't fucking handle this."

 

"Hey," Ryan says in his most comforting voice. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I fucked up your life, and I'm sticking around to fuck it back down." Brendon glares at him incredulously. "Okay, that came out weird. What I mean is I'm sorry, and I promise I'll stay to help you through this."

 

Brendon gives him a nod and a small smile. Ryan moves closer, waits to see if Brendon shrinks back, but he doesn't. Ryan snakes his arms under Brendon's and pulls him into a tight hug, feeling Brendon's chest spasm slightly as he chokes back what Ryan assumes is a sob. Ryan runs his fingertips lightly and completely platonically over Brendon's back, feeling his ribs expand and contract through the fabric of his t-shirt. Brendon rests his head on Ryan's shoulder.

 

"I should go talk to Sarah," Brendon finally says, starting to regain some composure. "I didn't tell her where I was going." And just like that, he's out the front door, leaving Ryan alone with the blankets, the baby hat, the instructions, and the egg.

 

\---

 

"Sarah," calls Brendon the moment he walks in the door. "I need to talk to you."

 

"Where did you go?" she responds. She sits at the end of the couch with her laptop perched on the armrest, a half-empty mug of coffee leaving a ring on the table beside her. She looks up from her computer screen to see his face-- tear-stained and panicked. "What happened to you?" Brendon sets his keys down on the table and takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch.

 

"Can I just-- can I talk to you?" he says again.

 

"Sure, what is it?" she says, closing her laptop to give him her full attention. Brendon scratches the back of his head and sorts through all the possible ways to begin the story. He settles on blurting out the first thing that comes to mind when he opens his mouth. Better than overthinking it.

 

"I was at that party at the club last night," he begins. Sarah nods. She knows this part already. "And it happened. And I-- I had to go to the bathroom to get rid of it. And I don't know exactly how things managed to unfold the way they did, but, well, Ryan, uh..."

 

"You saw Ryan?" Sarah interrupts. Brendon swallows.

 

"Yeah, I saw him. In the bathroom. After he'd, uh, _fertilized_ the egg." Sarah lets out a small gasp and covers her mouth with her hands.

 

"Oh my god. And you just let him?"

 

" _No, I did not 'just let him'_! Why would I do that?!" he says. Sarah moves closer and drapes her arms over his shoulders, makes pitiful noises at him and kisses him on the cheek.

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound like that. It's just a lot to take in, that's all. We can raise it together, I'm sure it'll turn out okay." Brendon pushes her off of him, gets up again, and paces the room.

 

"Ryan is the father," he states. "I want him to help raise the child." Sarah knits her eyebrows.

 

"What do you mean? Are you saying you don't want me taking part in this thing?" she says. Brendon's hands ball into fists.

 

"'This thing' is a baby, Sarah. All I said was that I want both the baby's biological parents involved, but if you really don't want to help, fine by me. Ryan was a hell of a lot more supportive about it than you anyway."

 

"Jesus Christ! We're fighting over an egg, Brendon. I don't care one way or another. Why are you so worked up? I never said I wasn't going to help.”

 

"Because I'm going to be a father!" he yells, reaches for the car keys and storms out. The front door slams shut.

 

\---

 

"You're back," Ryan observes from the kitchen as Brendon enters his home, uninvited.

 

"I'm back," says Brendon. He meets Ryan in the kitchen and leans on the counter, watching him cook chopped up chicken in a frying pan. Ryan prods the meat with a wooden spoon and looks up at Brendon with a raised eyebrow.

 

"Might I ask why?"

 

Brendon sighs. "It's still my egg," he says. Ryan stifles a laugh and goes back to stirring the pan.

 

"Sarah kicked you out, didn't she?"

 

"No," Brendon states. "I left."

 

"Oh."

 

"Yeah. So I might need, uh..." he trails off, wincing at the thought of asking Ryan for help.

 

"Yes, you can stay here," Ryan says grudgingly.

 

"Only for the night," Brendon promises. "I swear."

 

"I already said you could stay, didn't I?" Ryan turns off the heat and dumps the chicken into a bowl on the counter before placing the empty pan back on the burner. "Can you get the cheese out of the fridge for me?" Brendon moves over to the fridge, spying his egg in the living room from the doorway before handing Ryan the block of cheddar.

 

"You really should keep a closer eye on our unborn child, Ryan."

 

"I'm making you dinner. I don't have four arms." Brendon shrugs and heads into the living room to guard the egg under his watchful eye. They eat chicken quesadillas for dinner in silence. When they finish, Ryan takes both their plates and disappears into the kitchen. Brendon thanks him, watches him make his away back across the room to sit down across from him and turn on the television.

 

"I don't have to sleep in the same bed as you or anything, right?" Brendon asks tentatively. Ryan rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

 

"No, you can sleep on the couch or I can get out the blow-up mattress. Take your pick."

 

Brendon breathes a dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank god. I'll just crash on the couch, then."

 

They watch a couple episodes of Cops before Ryan decides to call it a night. He flicks off the lamp in the corner on his way out of the room, but Brendon stops him before he can make it into the bathroom.

 

"Hey, wait! Do you have an extra blanket?" he says.

 

"Just use the one on the coffee table," Ryan calls back.

 

"But that one is for the egg!"

 

"Sleep with the egg!"

 

"What if I crush it?"

 

"Then you don't need to stay here anymore, do you?"

 

"Ryan!"

 

"Just don't crush it, then!"

 

"Fine."

 

"Goodnight, Brendon."

 

"...Goodnight."

 

\---

 

"Knock knock!" Brendon opens his eyes and yawns. It isn't him who said that, but rather someone else, who's closing the front door and taking their shoes off. "Ryan? Ry--oh. Hey." Brendon watches Jon circle the couch to stand in front of him as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

 

"Jon," says Brendon.

 

"Brendon," says Jon. "What are you doing here?" Brendon opens his mouth to answer but closes it again when Ryan emerges from the hallway, hair sticking out at odd angles and a baggy t-shirt hanging off his thin frame.

 

"Hey Jon," says Ryan. Jon waves.

 

"So..." The silence is long and awkward. Jon nudges his head toward Brendon, lying on the couch underneath the blanket, and addresses Ryan. "So, are you two, like...?"

 

"Absolutely not," Brendon pipes in. He kicks the blanket off himself and sits up, the egg cradled tightly in his arms.

 

"Uh, what's that?" Jon asks. He reaches out to touch it, but Ryan rushes across the room and intervenes, swatting his hands away from the egg.

 

"Don't touch it!" yells Ryan, and Brendon hunches over the egg in solidarity. Jon backs away slowly with wide eyes, watching as Ryan huddles around the egg with Brendon; they're whispering things to each other, grazing their fingertips over the shell, breathing on it, and he's freaked the fuck out.

 

"What-- what is going on here?" he stutters. Ryan looks up at him and blinks.

 

"Shit," he says. "I don't know why I did that, sorry. Um, Brendon and I met up at the club for the first time in a while a couple of days ago."

 

"That doesn't explain why he's, you know, still here. And what's with the egg?"

 

Ryan takes in a deep breath. Brendon glares at him wordlessly. "He and Sarah are going through a rough spot so I let him crash on my couch."

 

"I didn't know you guys made up."

 

"We didn't, but now we kind of have to because we're having a baby together." Jon chokes on air and although Ryan didn't think it was possible, his eyes get even wider.

 

"You're what? The-- the egg-- you... Brendon, you weren't joking when you told me you laid eggs on tour, were you?" Brendon shakes his head. "Christ. I... I don't even know what to say. That's really, really weird. Um..." Jon trails off. He's at loss for words. He takes a second look at the egg, notices a tiny speckle on it. It's kind of cute, actually. "Ryan, can you grab me a guitar?"

 

"Uh, sure," Ryan replies, confused but compliant. He returns a moment later with his favourite acoustic and hands it to Jon. "What for?"

 

"I'm going to be an uncle," Jon muses. "I want to sing to the egg." He strums the guitar once and Ryan winces.

 

"Jon, I appreciate it but I really don't think--" Brendon reaches up to press his hand into Ryan's shoulder.

 

"Let him," he says calmly. "It will make the baby happy." Ryan knits his eyebrows and focuses on the egg.

 

"Fine. But don't play too loudly. Or quickly. And don't touch the egg. And don't make any sudden movements."

 

"I'm not going to hurt your egg, guys. You can stop treating me like a stranger." Brendon slowly extends his arms to place the egg carefully on the coffee table. He watches it intensely, flinching whenever Jon shifts his stance.

 

"It's cool," says Brendon. "See? Um, you still can't touch it, but I guess singing can't hurt." Ryan nods in agreement.

 

"Yes. Play now. But baby-friendly songs only, please."

 

Jon rolls his eyes and starts to sing.

 

\---

 

"What do we do until it hatches?" asks Ryan, slumped over the coffee table with the tip of his nose almost touching the egg. Brendon stretches his legs and rests them on Ryan's back as he settles deeper into the corner of the couch, having just regained consciousness after his second afternoon nap of the day. He shrugs his shoulders, but Ryan doesn't see and asks again.

 

"I dunno," he mumbles.

 

"Well, how long does it take?"

 

"I don't know that either. I'm assuming nine months. Could be wrong."

 

"You don't know?"

 

"Well, as far as I know," says Brendon. "I'm childless and have yet to see a textbook on men who lay eggs."

 

"You make a fair point," Ryan nods, and pauses before going on, "I missed you, by the way." Brendon doesn't say anything, but he considers going right back to sleep because he might be hallucinating. "I just thought you should know. I don't expect you to return the sentiment or anything, especially after all this." Brendon nods his head slowly and lets out a leisurely yawn.

 

"That's fine," he says, then settles himself further into the cushions. "Sarah hasn't called me once. I don't think she wants me to come home." Ryan turns to him and gives him a sympathetic frown.

 

"Sorry to hear that. You can stay here for as long as you want."

 

"Really?"

 

"Sure," replies Ryan. Brendon sits up and stares into Ryan's eyes for a long time. They're expressionless, unreadable, but the kiss that follows isn't surprising in the least.  Brendon gets a little carried away when he wraps his hands around the back of Ryan's neck and pulls him on top of him. Ryan's hands search for something to grab onto, settling with one hand on the couch cushion and the other on Brendon's chest.

 

Their lips separate suddenly and too soon, and Ryan sits back up, a huge grin spreading across his face. Brendon avoids eye contact and rolls onto his side, grumbling something about hormones and pheromones as he pulls the blanket up off the floor and back over himself.

 

"Do you think it's going to be a boy or a girl?" Ryan says, standing up and stretching.

 

"I hadn't thought about it. I wouldn't mind either one, I guess." Brendon is surprised at the ease with which Ryan pretends the past thirty seconds didn't just happen. Then again, he's also surprised at how well Ryan's taking the news of parenthood. And at Ryan's comfort level with having a temporary roommate. Maybe Ryan is just a surprising person. Brendon doesn't remember him being this surprising eight years ago.

 

"I think I'd like a boy," Ryan states, and yeah, a boy wouldn't be too bad.

 

\---

 

"Um, the restaurant was back there. I think you missed it," says Spencer, watching as the 50s style diner grows smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror. Jon shakes his head.

 

"I may have lied to you about where we're going," he says.

 

"What do you mean?" asks Spencer. Jon chuckles and shakes his head.

 

"We're going to Ryan's house." Spencer raises an eyebrow at Jon, who doesn't notice with his eyes on the road.

 

"Why?" he asks with a hint of disdain.

 

"Well, I've been dropping in periodically and now it just feels like we're leaving you out," he explains.

 

"Out of what? Who's 'we'?"

 

"You know, the band. Just consider it a reunion without the instruments." Jon shrugs.

 

"You're saying Brendon agreed to show up, too?"

 

"It took a lot to convince him," Jon replies, grinning.

 

"What did you do?"

 

"Nothing. The better question, however, would probably be 'what did Ryan do?'" Spencer's jaw drops.

 

"They didn't get back together, did they?" he asks, almost gasping. Jon smiles wider, knowing Spencer's always been a sucker for gossip.

 

"Why don't you just ask them yourself?" he suggests, and Spencer nods, suspicion creeping into his eyes.

 

"Maybe I will."

 

They pull into the driveway a few minutes later. Spencer follows Jon to the doorstep and waits for Jon to knock, but gets left standing outside when Jon walks right in without a second of hesitation.

 

"Hey everyone," Jon calls into the house. Spencer trails in behind him and they kick their shoes off in the front hall. In the living room, Brendon is curled around the egg on the couch.

 

"Hey," Brendon says through a yawn. "Oh, Spencer. You're here, too?" Spencer doesn't bother answering, just squints at the egg.

 

"What the hell is that?" he says. Brendon sits up, frowning.

 

"What do you mean? This is my egg. Well, mine and Ryan's. Jon didn't tell you?" He looks groggily to Jon, who's fighting incredibly hard to stop himself from smirking.

 

"No, I have no idea what you're talking about. Wait, did you say yours and Ryan's?"

 

"Yeah!"

 

"So you two did get back together? Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, it ended so badly last time and I would think--" Jon kicks Spencer in the ankle before he can finish shooting off his mouth.

 

"No way," states Brendon. He wraps up the blanket into a nest and places it on the coffee table under the egg. "I am not here to date Ryan. I'm just living here until our baby is born."

 

"Oh," says Spencer, lifting a hand to scratch his chin. "Wait, what?" The confusion hits him like a punch in the face.

 

"The egg, Spence. I laid this egg a few weeks ago and Ryan fertilized it without knowing it was mine and now we're going to have a baby!" he enthuses, and no matter how many times he says it, it still seems surreal to him. Spencer makes a face like Brendon isn't speaking English.

 

"You... Laid an egg?"

 

Brendon rolls his eyes. "I told you about it, like, ten years ago, man. It's just a thing I was born with. No biggie." Spencer disagrees. This seems like the very definition of a biggie.

 

"Where is Ryan?" he asks.

 

"You just missed him. Went out to get groceries."

 

"Oh. And how does Sarah feel about all this?" Spencer doesn't mean to grill the man, it just happens when he needs answers. There'll be time for apologies later. Brendon sighs and shakes his head slowly, waits a good ten seconds before opening his mouth.

 

"She and I are not... Uh, speaking. We had a bit of a disagreement. Part of why I'm holed up here, actually." His perky facade falters for just a moment. "How does pizza sound? I can call Ryan and ask him to pick us up a pizza for the occasion if you want," he offers. Spencer decides to give the interrogation a rest in favour of food.

 

"Sounds good," Jon agrees. Brendon smiles and digs through his sweatpants pocket for his phone.

 

\---

 

"Brendon," Ryan hisses, shakes Brendon's shoulder and sits up in bed. He grasps the egg in one hand and reaches for the bedside lamp with the other. Brendon grunts and rolls onto his side, squinting when the lamp flicks on and illuminates the corner of the room. "Brendon!" Ryan says again, this time with more urgency.

 

Brendon opens his eyes and stretches. "What?"

 

"The egg," whispers Ryan. "It's... Soft?"

 

"Huh?"

 

"Part of the egg, it's like a strip all around the middle; I can press my finger into it and it moves." This grabs Brendon's attention. He sits up and takes the egg from Ryan, inspecting it carefully with delicate, motherly fingers. Ryan watches in suspense.

 

"It's growing," Brendon eventually concludes. Ryan's eyes are the size of plates.

 

"Growing?" he scoffs. Brendon rolls to face Ryan and places the egg on the bed between them.

 

"It has to grow. A full sized baby can't fit in there, so the egg has to grow with it," he explains. Ryan feels like a bit of an idiot.

 

"Oh," he says. "Okay, then." He flicks off the light and settles back under the covers, close enough to Brendon to feel the warmth of his breath on the side of his neck. Just to keep the egg warm, he tells himself. Brendon's asleep within minutes and throws an arm over Ryan's shoulder. Ryan can hear him breathing softly. He doesn't sound asleep.

 

\---

 

"I don't think they're ever coming back," says Spencer, swiping a fingertip through the icing on the side of the cake and popping it in his mouth. Jon is seated at the opposite end of the dinner table, carefully retying the bow on the top of the box for the third time.

 

"Ryan said they'd be back from the bar at around eleven. It's quarter to eleven now. Hey, stop that, you'll ruin the cake!" Jon reaches across the table and swats at Spencer's hand as he goes in for seconds.

 

"You'd think they'd just admit they're a couple by now," says Spencer. "I mean, it's been a whole two months and I'm pretty sure I heard them fucking when I dropped by last week." He gazes at the blanket nest in the living room.

 

"You know how they are about the whole 'couple' thing. They could get married and it would still be 'strictly platonic, I swear,'" replies Jon.

 

"True."

 

Jon puts the finishing touches on the bow and they wait in silence for Ryan and Brendon to arrive home. It's not long before they hear muffled laughter approaching the front door.

 

"Surprise!" shout Jon and Spencer in sloppy unison as the door swings open. Brendon stumbles in after Ryan, draped over his shoulders and giggling incoherently into the crook of his neck.

 

"Oh, hey!" says Ryan. "Did the egg behave itself while we were gone?" he laughs. Jon gives Spencer a look that says, "Maybe we should've picked a better night for this."

 

"Yeah," says Jon, straightening his collar. "Um, we decided to throw you a surprise baby shower."

 

"That's so sweet!" says Brendon, maybe a little over-enthusiastically.

 

"Aw, you shouldn't have," says Ryan. Spencer almost agrees with him.

 

"It's not much," Jon explains, leading Ryan, and by extension, Brendon, into the dining room where the cake and present lay on the table. "But we worked our asses off on that cake, believe me."

 

Brendon peers over Ryan's shoulder at the cake. It's egg-shaped with two layers, the bottom of which is decorated with all sorts of designs and fondants and whatever else cakes are decorated with. The top layer has words on it. Brendon has to lean in closer to read them since he has no idea where his glasses are. He nearly loses his balance when he stands up on his tip toes, so he grabs onto Ryan's hips to stabilize himself, and the cake says-- no, hang on, those are just icing swirls. Then he realizes Spencer is staring at him.

 

"It's a pretty cake," says Brendon. This is what Spencer wants to hear, right? Spencer just smirks at him. How cryptic.

 

"Thanks," says Jon.

 

"How long did it take you?" asks Ryan, admiring Jon's frosting handiwork. Brendon still hasn't let go of him.

 

"A couple hours at my house. Spencer wanted to order a cake, but I took a cake decorating class last year and wanted to put my skills to use for once." Jon smiles and disappears into the kitchen to grab a knife. "Everyone wants a piece, right?" Spencer and Ryan agree and Brendon nods his head, just out of Jon's line of sight.

 

"So, what's in the box?" asks Brendon a few minutes later when they're all sitting around the table, picking at the cake that looks better than it tastes.

 

"It's your baby shower gift. You'll find out when you open it," Jon replies.

 

Ryan silently wipes an icing smudge off the corner of Brendon's mouth with his thumb. Jon and Spencer exchange glances as he raises it to his own mouth and sucks it clean.

 

"Is it a new pair of shoes? I really need a new pair of shoes," mumbles Brendon through a mouthful of cake.

 

"It's for the baby, Brendon."

 

"Oh."

 

When everyone is finished, Ryan collects their plates. He stumbles as he makes his way to the kitchen, prompting Jon to go help him along. Brendon and Spencer are left staring at each other across the table in silence.

 

"What's in there?" asks Brendon eventually, gesturing to the gift.

 

"You asked that already," says Spencer.

 

"I did?" Spencer nods. "...Oh."

 

"Whoa, whoa, wait! Don't pick it up like that!" Jon cries from the kitchen. Spencer leans just far enough to the side to peek in through the doorway. He's pretty sure Ryan just tried to grab a knife by the blade.

 

"Whoops," mumbles Ryan. He drops the plates roughly into the sink and turns on the tap. Jon breathes a heavy sigh and sends a pleading glance toward Spencer. Spencer shrugs and grins.

 

"Can I open it now?" Brendon asks.

 

"Not yet. You should wait for your boyfriend to get back from the kitchen first since you're sharing the gift," responds Spencer. Either Brendon doesn't notice the word 'boyfriend' or he doesn't care, because he just nods and folds his arms impatiently.

 

"Okay!" Ryan yells, leaning in the doorway triumphantly. "It's all good, guys. The dishes are done!" Brendon claps for him.

 

 

Jon and Spencer watch as Brendon tears the bow off the box, Jon wincing when the ribbon rips. Ryan stands closely behind Brendon, watching intently as he pulls back the wrapping paper and pops the lid off the cardboard gift box.

 

"It's... Diapers?" asks Brendon, confused, holding up the package of Pampers. "And a bib? Bottles? Why are these pyjamas so small?" Jon gently reminds him it's meant for the baby. Brendon's mouth forms an O when he understands.

 

"Oh, thank you!" he exclaims, throwing his arms around Jon in an uncomfortably tight hug. "Thank you so much!"

 

After their second unsuccessful attempt at Scrabble, Jon and Spencer decide it's a good time to head home.

 

"You're not going to stay for a quick drink?" asks Ryan, holding up an unopened bottle of champagne. Jon shakes his head.

 

"No thanks," he says. Spencer leans in close to Jon's ear.

 

"Are they going to be okay alone with the egg?" he says in a hushed tone so Ryan can't hear.

 

Jon thinks about it for a while, considers offering to take it home with him until tomorrow morning. He's pretty sure, though, that the egg's done enough weird pheromonal shit to them that even drunk, they'd know not to break it.

 

"It'll be fine," he decides. Spencer raises an eyebrow, but his need for sleep ultimately outweighs the risk and he follows Jon out to the car after a quick goodbye.

 

Ryan can't figure out how to open the champagne bottle, which is probably for the better anyway. He sets it down on the table just as Brendon's arms wrap around his waist.

 

"Did I surprise you?" says Brendon, resting his cheek on Ryan's shoulder.

 

"Definitely," Ryan says slowly. Brendon's laugh is muffled by his lips loosely pressing into Ryan's neck.

 

"I knew it," he mumbles, playing with the hem of Ryan's shirt with clumsy fingers. Ryan leans into him, his back pressing against Brendon's warm chest as he tips his head back for a kiss. He has to crane his neck just to reach the corner of Brendon's mouth, though, and everything is at an odd angle. Brendon laughs, pulls back, and plants both hands on Ryan's shoulders to spin him around.

 

When their lips meet again, Ryan's tongue flicks over Brendon's lower lip and he reaches out to pull Brendon closer to him by the small of his back. Brendon parts his lips farther and backs himself into the dining room wall, head almost hitting a picture frame. Ryan pins Brendon with his hips, pressing his hard-on against Brendon's thigh while his tongue makes its way deeper into Brendon's mouth. He smiles when he feels the vibrations of a small moan escaping Brendon's throat against his lips and tongue.

 

Ryan's fingers deftly unzip Brendon's fly and hook around the waistband of his jeans. He slides them halfway down his ass before Brendon grabs his wrists suddenly, tightly.

 

"What are you doing?" says Ryan. Brendon shakes his head and inhales sharply. He winces, groans, and then Ryan understands. "Egg?" Brendon nods and lets out another strained gasp. Then Ryan gets an idea. A great, hot, and horribly stupid idea. "Hold it in and get on the bed," he breathes into Brendon's ear. Brendon's eyebrows shoot up, but he shuffles into the hallway and Ryan follows him into the bedroom, giggling under his breath the whole way.

 

Brendon sits on the edge of the bed breathing heavily like he's in labour. Ryan takes a seat beside him and starts to massage his shoulders because it just seems like the right thing to do.

 

"Why did you want me here?" Brendon asks, eyes closed and eyebrows knit, concentrating on stopping the egg from moving. Brendon turns to see Ryan's eyes narrow and a small smirk spread across his lips. He leans in close to whisper in Brendon's ear.

 

"I want you to hold it in until you come," Ryan says, grabbing a handful of Brendon's shirt in each hand and pulling it over his head.

 

"Okay, but what happens after that? What do I do with the egg?" asks Brendon as Ryan tosses the shirt onto the floor.

 

"Then," Ryan says, lying Brendon down on the bed and pulling on his jeans. "I want you to lay it in my mouth," he says, his voice low and almost gravelly. Brendon's eyes widen and he shrinks back a little. "Are you okay with that?" Ryan asks. Brendon hesitates, but eventually nods. "Good."

 

Ryan undresses himself and gets down on both knees with Brendon's legs wrapping around his waist, leaning forward to place a kiss on Brendon's jawline. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he just runs them along Brendon's chest and it seems to suffice, tracing circles around his nipples as he sucks on a spot on Brendon's neck. Brendon moans and gropes around blindly for the knob on the nightstand drawer. He gets it open after a few seconds and hands Ryan a bottle of lube, just as he looks up from kissing a line down Brendon's chest.

 

"Don't bother prepping. Damn eggs've got me loose enough," says Brendon, straining to keep the egg at bay. Ryan slips on a condom and slicks himself up. "Hurry. I don't know how much longer I can hold it," Brendon adds breathlessly.

 

"You'll be fine," Ryan assures him. He lines the tip of his cock up with Brendon's entrance and presses in slowly at first, watching for Brendon's reaction. Brendon lets out a soft gasp, then grips the blankets frantically as Ryan goes in deeper and then maybe accidentally slides all the way out again.

 

"Ryan," Brendon pleads. Okay, he gets it. He needs to be quick. He pushes in again, faster and harder than before, trying a few different angles until Brendon damn near chokes out a sob and he knows he's got the right spot. He thrusts in more rhythmically, and Brendon's close after a few steady minutes.

 

"I can't--" Brendon struggles to form coherent sentences. He's clenching around Ryan's cock, and it feels fucking amazing. "Hold--" Ryan estimates it's a minute tops until he comes, and Brendon isn't helping. Ryan's going even faster than before and Brendon is moaning with every thrust and he's almost there when he hits something hard. He hits it again because he's too into it to put on the breaks and the thing breaks under his force. Suddenly his cock is burning. Brendon starts screaming a second after he pulls out.

 

Yellow leaks onto the bedsheets. Brendon yells out in pain but his whole lower half's gone tense, so Ryan's all tangled up and he's got a better chance of escaping Alcatraz than Brendon Urie's legs by the looks of it. Ryan pulls off the condom and throws it in the general direction of the garbage can, but that doesn't really matter because his boyfriend-- no, his really good friend, is screaming and shitting broken eggshells.

 

"Christ! Are you okay?" he finally says.

 

"No!" Brendon cries with tears streaming down his cheeks. Ryan chances a glance down to the source of the yolk leak and looks away as soon as he sees the tip of a blood-coated shell shard sticking out of his asshole.

 

"Oh my god, oh my god. You're bleeding, I'm so sorry! I'm so fucking sorry! What do-- what do we do? Uh, hospital," Ryan answers his own question.

 

"You're too fucked to drive," Brendon mumbles between sniffling back tears. He's still hyperventilating; the pain is sharp and hot and fucking unbearable.

 

"I'll call an ambulance, then." Brendon nods, and the whole time Ryan is on the phone, Brendon doesn't stop muttering profanities. He can feel something leaking out of him; whether it's egg yolk or blood, he doesn't care to check. The room suddenly gets darker. His head is swimming, or at least he thinks it might be because everything sounds like it's underwater. Ryan says something and might be touching him but he can't make it out.

 

\---

 

Brendon comes to in the ambulance, but only briefly. Someone who isn't Ryan is close to him, leaning over him, saying something that mostly sounds like a high pitched ringing. He remembers he's still naked and has just enough time to feel his cheeks go red before he loses consciousness again.

 

\---

 

"Emergency surgery," are the first two words Brendon hears. Someone's pushing him down a hall on a gurney.

 

"Hey," he tries to say. He's not sure if it works or not because he doesn't get an answer. He has no idea where Ryan might be. The nurse pushes his head down gently as he tries to sit up, and he doesn't fight her. It feels like he's got an asshole full of broken glass. That almost sounds familiar. The gurney rolls to a stop in the OR, someone mentions anaesthesia, and he's out again.

 

\---

 

Ryan's been biting his fingernails in the waiting room for two hours. The doctors said the procedure would take four hours minimum, maybe more if they need to wait for the alcohol to leave Brendon's system, and there's a good chance that he'll have to stay a couple more nights in the hospital to recover. Luckily, Ryan's had enough time in the past two hours to do as much sobering up as he's keen on doing. Unluckily, he's sober enough to feel awful. And disgusted, because honestly, nobody really wants a fresh egg in their mouth.

 

Ryan rests his head on the baby blue wallpaper behind him, on the verge of drifting off in the uncomfortable chair with his thumbs still twiddling anxiously. The rest of the waiting room is calm and empty. He's not sure what time it is. His stomach contents won't stay still and he imagines worst case scenarios: He can never have sex with Brendon again. Brendon has to poop in a bag from his stomach for the rest of his life. Brendon dies in surgery and the baby grows up with one parent. The baby-- the egg-- _the egg_. The egg is at home. Ryan's heart stops. What if it's cold?

 

"Oh no," he whispers under his breath. "Nonononono." He has to go home. Immediately.

 

\---

 

It takes him a while to get ahold of a cab, which only makes him antsier on the way home. The driver pulls up in front of his house and Ryan throws a couple twenties into the front seat before dashing to the front door. He stumbles through the house, knocking over tables and slamming into walls in desperate search of the egg. Where did he leave it? He comes to a stop at the start of the hall when he sees the bedroom light on. He hears voices.

 

"I think I'm going to be sick," one says.

 

"Just get the paper towels," the other replies. And then Spencer is in the doorway, staring down the hall at Ryan.

 

"I thought you left," is all Ryan can think to say. Spencer doesn't respond. He walks down the hall and right past Ryan, into the kitchen and comes back with a roll of paper towels in his hand. Ryan thinks he can make out a muttered, "Fucking Christ."

 

He forgets what he's doing for a minute and stands in the hall before the knot in his stomach reminds him about his possibly dying unborn child. He glances around the living room and finally spots the egg wrapped in the blanket on the couch. He hurries over and touches the shell with the back of his hand; lukewarm, salvageable. Next on the list: find the hairdryer.

 

Thankfully, it's still laying on the bathroom counter from the morning earlier. He plugs it in and holds the egg beneath the hot stream of air, pulling back the hairdryer occasionally to make sure the egg doesn't overheat. He doesn't notice Jon standing in the doorway until the hairdryer unexpectedly powers down. Ryan instinctively moves in front of the egg and looks to Jon.

 

"Ryan..." says Jon, and he's making a face like he just witnessed an unforgivable crime.

 

"What? Why are you still here?" asks Ryan. Jon shakes his head slowly.

 

"We got worried and decided to come back to make sure you were alright, and... We found your egg. In your bed. I'm so-- you should come see this. I don't know how to tell-"

 

"Jon," says Ryan. Jon stops. "I have the egg right here." He holds the egg just out of arm's reach, and a wave of relief washes over Jon's face.

 

"Oh my god, thank god. Why is your bed covered in blood and shells, then?"

 

"That," Ryan pauses. "Is a long story."

 

\---

 

Brendon is not happy that the first place he ends up after a week in the hospital is not Ryan's house. Instead, Sarah wants to talk divorce, and now he's in the back of a taxi taking him back to his house.

 

"Um, hey," he says timidly, waving his hand to get the attention of the driver. The driver makes brief eye contact with him in the mirror. "Can we make an extra stop at the liquor store before we get there?" The driver nods.

 

Brendon hurries in and, a few minutes later, back out with a bottle of Jack Daniel's in a brown paper bag under his arm. He spends the rest of the ride trying to think about nothing and pays the driver extra when the car stops in the driveway. His house looks foreign now, like he's not supposed to be there. He probably isn't. Sarah answers the door before he even knocks.

 

"Hi, Brendon," she says.

 

"Hi," says Brendon. He isn't sure if he needs to be invited in or not. Sarah disappears down the hall into the kitchen, and Brendon decides to follow her. He opens the bottle in the kitchen, and they both take seats at the kitchen table.

 

"You want a divorce," Brendon states. Sarah nods.

 

"I can't do this, Brendon. This marriage can't work if you're spending more time with your… your fucking _boyfriend_ than with me." She doesn't make eye contact. He throws his hands up in the air.

 

"What? What do you mean this isn't going to work, baby?" says Brendon, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the invisible metaphorical marriage in front of him. "He's not even my boyfriend. He's just the father of my baby."

 

"Christ, Brendon. I knew you didn't love me before, but this? This is just a slap in the face." Brendon shrugs and takes a long drink straight from the bottle.

 

"Where do I sign?" he asks. Sarah sighs and shakes her head.

 

“It's not like that. I need you to—“

 

“Can you just like, take care of this divorce business without me? Do I really need to be here?”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Are you?”

 

“Okay, just- just go. I'm going to start looking for an attorney.” Sarah gets up and excuses herself. Brendon drains half the whiskey bottle in one go. The bedroom door slams shut down the hall.

 

“Well, I'd hope you won't find one in there,” he calls out before leaving, letting the front door swing open behind him. He checks his pockets and realizes he doesn't have enough cash for a cab, so he leaves the bottle in the front garden and starts walking back to Ryan’s place. Ryan would be happy to see him. Unlike some people.

 

\---

 

“Guess who’s home?” calls Brendon, kicking his shoes off onto the mat. An eerie silence fills the house to the point where he can hear the tap in the bathroom dripping into the sink every couple seconds. He takes a couple steps into the house. The closer he gets to the bedroom, the stuffier and more humid the air becomes. It's a sauna by the time he reaches the bathroom and a full on jungle by the bedroom door at the end of the hall. He hesitates before knocking, wonders if he really wants to break the silence bookended by his footsteps.

 

“Ryan?” Ryan stopped visiting him after the third day in the hospital. Brendon wonders if he made a mistake. Maybe Ryan cut his losses and skipped town. After all, Brendon showed up out of nowhere after almost ten years and told him they had to raise a child together. Could've scared him off. Brendon reaches for the doorknob and pushes the door open anyway.

 

He's immediately hit by a wave of heat. The soft buzz of seven space heaters is the sole noise. Blankets hang on the wall where a window used to be. Even more blankets are piled onto the bed, more than Brendon knew Ryan even owned. They're arranged in a sort of nest, built up three or four feet high, and shuffling slightly. Brendon shuts the door behind him, and the noise startles the person wrapped in all the blankets to kick them off the bed.

 

“You return,” whispers Ryan. He looks awful. Dark bags under his eyes; messy, greasy hair; naked, ribs poking out like he hasn't eaten in weeks; dead stare. Brendon blinks twice before he recognizes him.

 

“Oh my god,” says Brendon. He takes a step forward, but Ryan shrinks back and chokes on the beginning of a hostile growl, then eases up and laughs nervously.

 

“Sorry. It's been a while since you were here. I've given it all my nutrients, Brendon. I thought you were gone forever.” He flinches each step Brendon takes, but doesn't stop him from getting closer. Brendon slowly takes a seat on the edge of the bed to peer at the egg between Ryan’s crossed legs. It's much larger than when he last saw it.

 

“Nutrients?” asks Brendon. Ryan nods.

 

“It absorbs them from our skin, Brendon. Don't you know? Don't you want our Eggbert to grow strong and powerful?” Brendon shakes his head.

 

“I don't think that's how it works, and I… I don't think we should name it just yet,” he says. Ryan’s eyes go wide and he reaches out to stroke a frail, shaking finger down Brendon’s cheek.

 

“Warm. You're so warm. It's close, Brendon. So very close. If you listen, you can hear it.” Brendon starts to respond, but then Ryan presses his finger to Brendon’s lips and shushes him softly. “Listen,” he whispers, barely audible. “Hear it.”

 

Brendon listens. The space heaters drown out whatever noise, if any, is coming from the egg. “It's beautiful, isn't it? Our son buzzes with anticipation.”

 

“I have missed it dearly. May… May I touch it?” Ryan nods eagerly.

 

“Embrace our child, Brendon. He's as much yours as mine.” Brendon cups his hands around his egg. It vibrates lightly against his fingers, so lightly that he can't tell if it's really the egg or just his hands shaking. A rush of happiness washes over him as he continues caressing it, holding it to his cheek, smelling it. It's a beautiful smell. It's his smell, and it's Ryan’s smell, and it's special. So special. When he puts it down, it shakes on the bedsheets. Ryan gasps and Brendon’s hands fly up to his mouth. They watch in awe as it continues to sway back and forth slowly, then faster. Brendon crawls behind Ryan, wraps his arms around his damp, heaving chest, and watches from over his shoulder.

 

A crack forms. It's small at first. Something scratches harder at the shell from the inside, and hairline cracks appear like spiderwebs where a small piece of the shell chips away. Immediately, fluid drips out of the hole, clear and runny. A small finger pokes through. Brendon chokes out a gasp and grabs tighter onto Ryan.

 

“Here it comes,” he whispers. Ryan nods and grips Brendon’s forearm, digging his fingernails into his skin. A high-pitched shrieking erupts from the hole, and two hands pry more of the shell loose. What looks like a talon pokes another hole through the shell near the bottom, and pushes the remaining shell between the holes out entirely. The baby slides out of the egg, thick layers of viscous liquid dripping from its protruding eyes. Its screams are loud enough for both men to cover their ears with their hands, though neither of them can take their eyes off it.

 

It hooks its fingers into the bedsheets and drags its limp body toward Ryan, its legs resembling sticks and its feet like a chicken’s. Small feathers sprout from its lower torso, the holes they make in the skin leaking with blood and puss. Its mouth doesn't allow it to cry properly; its lips are only half-hardened into a beak, soft from the nutrients of only one parent. Instead of crying, it moans and screams; the volume and intensity fluctuating seemingly at random. It reaches out to touch Ryan’s leg with underdeveloped, pink fingers.

 

“Don't let it touch me,” Ryan says quickly, jumping back. Brendon can't find words. The baby crawls closer to Ryan, and Ryan scrambles off the bed to stand with his back to the wall. Brendon follows suit. They stand beside each other in stunned silence, watching the baby crawl around the bedsheets until its screaming peters out into a constant, low whining and it sits still.

 

“Ryan?” whispers Brendon, holding back horrified tears.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It's bleeding.”

 

“I know,” says Ryan.

 

“I think this might be…  an affront to nature.” Brendon swallows. Ryan pales and nods in agreement. “I don't want to touch it,” Brendon adds.

 

“Me neither.”

 

“We can't leave it here.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Do you… Do you think it's suffering?”

 

“If I say yes, does that make it okay to—“

 

“Yes.” Brendon answers before he can regret it.

 

“I’m going to-- I'm going to go get a garbage bag. Can you do, uh, _the deed_?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Two hours later, Brendon reenters the house through the back door. Ryan is standing in the kitchen holding a pitcher of lemonade, and points to Brendon's pants when he sees them covered in dirt.

 

“Don't track all that mud in,” he chides. “Go change. I made lemonade for all your hard work when you're done.” Brendon says nothing and takes his pants off right in the middle of the kitchen. He doesn't really want to go to back into the bedroom. He can't remember the last time he blinked. He’d be okay with never blinking again, though, if it meant he never had to see the face of his offspring again. He pours himself a glass of lemonade and finishes it without stopping.

 

“It tastes weird,” he says.

 

“I know,” says Ryan. They sit in silence for a long, long time.

 

“Ryan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I think I'm going to go now.”

 

“Okay.”


End file.
